


When everything Was Done

by Azile_Teacup



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:07:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3095957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azile_Teacup/pseuds/Azile_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt; cuddling</p>
<p>after inception, Arthur finds Eames. Which is good, because Eames needs Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When everything Was Done

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: grief, exhaustion

After they’ve achieved inception, Arthur doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s been trailing Dom for the past who knows how long, it feels like centuries. And before that he was working with Dom. What to do next has never really occurred to him, he never thought there’d be a next. Once Dom agreed to do the inception Arthur was too focused on keeping him from tipping over to self-destruction. Not that he’d been great at that.

Arthur hesitates, then sits in Starbucks and tracks Eames down. Eames, who seems to have been popping in and out of Arthur’s jobs since Arthur started dreaming. Eames, who sticks around while Arthur works late, thinking through the connections of the job and the people, reading over everyone’s plans, looking at people’s work and thinking about everything in terms of the human element. And when Arthur was done, Eames would be there, with food and company. Except on the last job where they left Cobb alone, retreating somewhere else for their usual wind-down.

Eames, who doesn’t flirt with Arthur, but somehow exudes something that is suggestive of attraction. Arthur picks the lock to Eames’ hotel room, wondering why he’s staying in such a shit hole that he has an old fashioned lock instead of a key card, grinning, remembering this from before Mal died. Usually it had been Eames breaking in on Arthur, but it had happened this way round a time or two, Arthur can admit that. He slips into the room and holds his hands up, expecting Eames to be alert, grinning at him, some kind of weapon in hand.

“I suppose that’s Arthur,” Eames says, from where he’s curled up on the bed, “if not, you can take whatever. Nothing here’s very expensive, but there’s a crappy old laptop somewhere you might hawk for twenty quid.”

“It’s me,” Arthur says, shutting and locking the door, baffled by this unexpected turn of events.

“Oh. That’s good. I wasn’t looking forward to being burgled.”

“Why are you staying in this dump?”

“Dunno. I wandered around and then got tired. Most of my things are elsewhere, somewhere you couldn’t have tracked me so easily.”

“I thought it was an invitation.”

“It was.”

Eames hasn’t uncurled himself, hasn’t really even moved. Arthur glances around at the peeling paint and damp fixtures and wrinkles his nose as the smell of mildew, then makes a decision.

“Right. Come on, you’re coming to my house,” Arthur says, turning on his heel and leaving the horrible room, going back to his rental.

He waits for Eames to join him, running the engine, tapping his fingers along to music. Eames comes wandering out, peers around at the carpark and then joins him.

“Could’ve waited for me,” Eames says, strapping himself in and then leaning against the window.

Arthur shrugs and pulls out. Eames doesn’t speak on the journey. Arthur would be worried, except that it’s not entirely unknown. When tired, Eames sometimes shuts down a little, if he thinks he’s relatively safe. Arthur lets him do whatever it is he’s doing, think through whatever he’s thinking through.

The flat Arthur has here is on the edge of the city, out of the way. It’s a nice flat, one of his favourite homes, so he makes Eames take off his shoes in the hall. He goes around checking lights and putting on the heat, then looks in the freezer for something to eat.

“We have… frozen pizza, oven chips, tinned soup and… a can of baked beans. Anything sound appetizing?” Arthur says.

When he gets no answer he goes through to the livingroom and finds Eames sprawled on the sofa, head back against the cushions, eyes closed.

“Are you asleep?” Arthur asks.

“No.”

“Are you alright?”

“Not really.”

“I’ll order take out.”

Arthur goes for his stash of menus and decides on Chinese. He hesitates, then orders it for right away. He’s starving and Eames, though exhausted and probably not wanting anything, could probably do with sustenance. He joins Eames on the sofa once he’s called their order in.

“I haven’t seen you this tired in a while,” Arthur observes, when Eames doesn’t say anything.

“There’s only… I… I can’t, okay?”

“Alright. What can you do? Or rather, what can I do?”

Eames just shakes his head, so Arthur waits for their food and then makes sure Eames eats something. Eames manages to work his way through a thing of spicy soup and half a box of noodles before he gives up and goes back to his previous position. Arthur eats the rest of their food before joining him, yawning. Now that he’s eaten and he’s home and he’s safe, he’s tired as well and ready for bed. He has to sort Eames, first, though.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t found you?” Arthur asks.

“I assumed you wouldn’t have anything to do, now Dom’s sorted. I thought maybe you’d want a brand new project.”

Eames sounds unhappy, with himself and with something else, just really miserable in general. He also looks cold, probably from being tired. When they’d woken up on the plane Arthur had rushed to get everything put away and Eames had helped, but he’d been sluggish even then and there’d been something in his eyes, something he was usually better at hiding. In fact, Arthur’s only seen Eames so sloppy about his emotions once before.

“Mal,” Arthur says, realising, “you saw Mal.”

The first time Arthur had come across her in one of Dom’s dreams he’d woken up sobbing and Dom had thrown things around the room and stormed out. Mal had been a mentor to Arthur, someone he could always ask for help, someone he relied on. He misses her, even after all this time, even after meeting her evil ghost a time or two. But Eames…

Arthur had met Eames in Sri Lanka, that first time. They’d been working and Arthur hadn’t thought much of Eames, beyond understanding that he was very good at stealing things. He’d seen Eames forge, once, but Eames had been running a con top-side that job and most of the time they’d been working different schedules and different locations. Arthur had walked in on him and Mal, once, having dinner. He’d expected them both to be laughing, mocking, having the time of their lives, because they were both like that; free spirited, easy going.

They hadn’t been, though. Eames had been quiet, head on one side, eyes only on Mal, listening to her talking. Her voice was soft and calm, serious. They hadn’t touched much, but they’d been aware of one another. Obviously aware. Arthur had felt he was intruding and left them to it. He’d seen it since, their respect for one another, their subdued fondness, their understanding of one another’s personas and need for quiet and calm. It had been what made it possible for Arthur to befriend Eames as more than a workmate, that observation that Eames liked quiet.

“Ariadne shot her,” Eames says, curling forwards into himself.

Arthur doesn’t consider anything. It’s automatic to wrap his arms around Eames. He’s done it before, Eames has done it for him, they were almost dating before Mal died. They were almost there. And then.

“I don’t want to talk,” Eames says.

“You don’t need to.”

Arthur sits against the sofa arm and opens his legs, pulling Eames against his chest. He wraps the sofa throw around him and then hugs him. He turns the tv on at some point, but Eames doesn’t stir. Arthur knows he’s not asleep, his breathing’s still too uneaven, but he doesn’t mind. He kind of likes it. He kisses Eames’ hair now and then, rubs across his broad shoulders, down his back, feeling new muscle. Eames’ physicality is always changing so it’s always new.

Eames lies against Arthur’s chest for hours, and Arthur dozes off once or twice, waking to find Eames still awake, still there. He shifts position now and then but never leaves the circle of the embrace. At one am Arthur yawns and tugs Eames to bed, helping him out of his clothes when Eames stumbles in his exhaustion. Eames presses close under the covers, leeching warmth from Arthur and sharing his own body heat, breath still shaky, still unable to sleep. Arthur knows that it sometimes takes a while for Eames, he doesn’t go under enough for his body to be able to just sleep wherever and whenever.

Arthur holds him until he does manage to drift off, the next morning, and then he sleeps properly himself, deeply. They wake still tangled together.


End file.
